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tobiasdrake · 19 days ago

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Where do you fall on the "killing vs. not killing bad guys" argument? I know the debate is complicated and there's a lot of various factors for and against either side, so I wanna hear your take on things.

An intensely complicated subject that tends to get oversimplified on both sides of the equation. I generally don't like to take a "side" on this because I feel like the idea of there being "sides" on killing misses the point.

Unless you're talking about cold-blooded execution of a subdued foe, killing generally isn't a choice you get to make. It's a consequence of the choice you already made to use violence.

While arguments about killing villains exist beyond superhero comics, this is a particular way that they tend to happen in superhero media. Superhero stories depict their heroes as, effectively, SWAT teams. The Green Goblin is about to blow up Newark, so Spider-Man breaks in and smashes his face against a brick wall until he passes out.

Part of the fantasy is the idea that nonlethal violence is easy and reliable. After Spider-Man reduces the Green Goblin's HP to 0, a Windows menu pops up and says "Would you like to finish him?" Spider-Man boldly clicks "No" after every fight like the hero he is.

It allows fans to enjoy brutal takedowns of bad guys without having to reckon with the reality that when Batman brought an entire floor down on top of that guy's head, he probably didn't wake up in a hospital bed. Batman can throw a guy off a third story balcony and watch his knees crack as he hits the ground and the story assures you that he's fine. He'll just need a little stay in the hospital.

But realistically speaking, all of these guys would have body counts. Not because they were aggressively trying to murder, but because you don't really get the choice. It is extremely easy to kill someone and surprisingly difficult to nonlethally incapacitate them. The line between how much blunt-force cranial trauma will knock someone unconscious versus how much will kill them is extremely blurry and it moves.

There are less lethal ways of incapacitating someone than others. Obviously, tasing someone has a lower mortality rate than shooting them with bullets. But the only surefire way to uphold a Code of No-Killing is to not use violence as your problem-solving tool in the first place. And there's not a lot of de-escalation training going around the Avengers Mansion.

So it always just feels kind of self-delusional when superheroes brag about not killing people but their primary mode of problem-solving is to shoot a guy in the face with an exploding arrow or something. You're gonna kill people if you're Batmanning. Sorry, that's just the reality of violence. When you throw a guy off a roof, you don't get to choose what physics is going to do to that sack of meat and bone as it hits the ground.

Now, on the opposite end of the spectrum, should superheroes kill people on purpose? Uh. No. I don't want cops extrajudicially murdering whoever they don't like, and I don't want Batman to do it either. Due process exists for a reason.

Superheroes should not try to kill people. But they are going to kill people sometimes, because their hammer is violence and their stories are just excuses to pit them against nails.

"But the Joker always breaks out of prison." Yeah, but he also always comes back to life. If you can nitpick about genre conventions then I can too. Hell, often times you can't even redeem a villain without the next writer unwriting it and making them a bad guy again. At a metafictional level, there is rarely any way to truly do away with a popular villain.

But. Y'know. Let's talk about heroes who aren't fucking copaganda. In the broader fictional sense, should stories end with the hero killing the villain or shouldn't they?

This, again, has no simple Yes or No answer. It depends heavily on the themes being explored and what the villain is meant to represent.

We need to talk about the "demise" of the villain, which can be a literal death or it can be many other things. The primary function of the villain is to be wrong about something. To oppose the hero, who is right about something.

The villain holds bad ideas, bad beliefs, bad ideology. The hero may start out holding good ideas, or they may be something that the hero comes to over the course of the story. But by the time these two meet in the third act climax, they are meant to embody the two faces of the story's central thesis. Regarding whatever this story is trying to talk about, the hero is right and the villain is wrong.

Whatever form it takes, whether literal death or not, the demise of the villain is the final statement on their incorrect or even toxic beliefs. Which often does take the form of literal death because it's easy to write a comeuppance that way.

Luke Skywalker believes that there is love in his father's heart for him, and Emperor Palpatine is confident that Anakin is truly lost. But Luke's love for his family wins out and destroys Palpatine.

Scar is selfish, cowardly, and disloyal. Simba returns out of a sense of responsibility and loyalty to his people, coming clean to them and accepting his place among them. Scar tries to sell out the hyenas to save his own skin, as well as stabbing Simba in the back. For his treachery, the hyenas rip him to pieces; He is devoured by the very loyalties that he selfishly betrayed.

Obadiah Stane, the embodiment of war profiteering and the military-industrial complex, is literally consumed by the clean energy project that Tony wants to move the company towards instead.

Sauron underestimates the power of the small and meager folk, and believes wholeheartedly in Great Men of History. And so when Great Man Aragorn marches to his gates, he allows himself to become convinced that this is his true nemesis, his true rival, the threat he must face. This is the glorious battle that will decide the fate of Middle-Earth. And so he turns his eye away from the common folk that will be his undoing.

The villain's flaws, their toxic ideology, the things that make them the villain, are what their demise is supposed to be about. They can be consumed by their failings or undone by the hero's virtues, but either way, in a well-executed demise, a closing statement on the story's thesis is made.

But a well-executed demise doesn't necessarily have to be fatal, either. Like I've said, it can be things other than a literal demise. Sometimes it absolutely should.

In Civil War, Zemo is driven by an obsession for revenge. His homicidal retaliatory bloodthirst is a toxin that he infects both T'Challa and Tony with over the course of the story. Tony succumbs and has to be defeated with force, though Steve still demonstrates his strength of character by sparing Tony's life in the end even when the madness of the battle threatens to grip him too.

But it's T'Challa who delivers Zemo's demise. Not by killing him, but by making the choice to rise above vengeance. T'Challa breaks the shackles of Zemo's infectious vengeance and chooses mercy. And it's in this moment that Zemo's feelings, his cruelty, are opposed and vanquished by T'Challa's heroic virtue.

Firelord Ozai believes in the Social Darwinist ideology of Might Makes Right. He leads a culture where disputes are settled with deathmatches and believes it is his right to blanket the world in fire because he has the power to do so, and no one can stop him. Aang, by contrast, is a pacifist at heart because those are the values he was raised in; Values of a culture that Ozai exterminated, whose very last vestiges exist only in Aang's heart.

Ozai would kill Ozai and Azula, who often gets left out of this conversation. Because theirs is a culture where righteousness stands hand-in-hand with brute strength. Where who is right is decided by who is left standing when the dust settles, and who is a pile of ash. Aang defeats Ozai; By Ozai's belief system, Aang is stronger thus Aang is righteous and it is his Conqueror's Right to execute Ozai where he stands.

But Aang doesn't just beat Ozai; He rejects Ozai's way of life. He renounces the belief system of the imperialist colonizer and holds true to the belief system of a people they destroyed. While a simultaneous outcome plays out between Katara and Azula, as Katara similarly chooses mercy once she's obtained a position of power and control over Azula.

Special note also to Zuko who demonstrates that he actually cares more about protecting people than about winning his Glorious Deathmatch of Imperialist Honor. Which also serves as a rejection of Azula's beliefs that relationships are founded on fear and control. Zuko, too, rejects the belief systems of Ozai and Azula and warrants recognition. Ozai would never have taken a hit like that for Azula. Azula would never take a hit like that for Ty Lee.

It's this mercy that breaks the Hundred-Year War, destroying not the perpetrators of it but the very principles on which it is founded. This philosophical annihilation of Azula and Ozai's very understanding of strength and power is their villainous "demise", and weighs far more than just cutting their heads off and calling it a day ever could.

There is no correct answer to whether or not heroes should kill. What matters most is how the demise the writer chooses for the villain reflects upon the story's central ideas and thesis.

#writing

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thebibliosphere · 3 months ago

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Apologies if this is a dumb question, but re: scented things causing reactions, is it only fragranced things? Or can the smell of cooking food cause a reaction? I'm wondering if there are safer alternatives for people who want their home to smell nice (as opposed to just being clean) but without using fragranced things like candles or diffusers

Thank you for asking. And it depends on the person.

I have a condition called Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) which makes my body perceive harmless things as a threat.

Red meat is one of my worst allergies, and while the smell of it cooking won’t make me as lethally ill as eating it, the smell can make me feel not good because the mast cell receptors in my nasal passage pick up on it and start sending “we’ve been exposed to our allergen” signals and because my immune systems is broken, it can sometimes perceive that as a threat and I get ill.

It’s not as common as eating the allergen, but it can happen.

For people with “normal” fragrance sensitivity, using things like coffee beans or baking cookies is a lot nicer way of scenting your home without risking harm to others who are adversely affected by strong fragrances.

Best thing to do is ask people. It might seem weird at first but I promise you, asking your friend with say, migraines, if there’s any scents that bother them and making sure they’re not exposed to them in your house is a good way to show you’re willing to be a safe space for them. They’ve likely never even had people ask. People just expose us to our triggers all the time and don’t care.

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gingerdusk · 10 months ago

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Slowpoke Tails - Shed vs Chopped

Okay, so there's something of a discrepancy between how Slowpoke tails are treated by the Pokémon franchise. Initially, it was understood that these are a tasty, unethical luxury item, starting in Gold/Silver/Crystal and mirrored in Heartgold/Soulsilver:

The whole plot here is that Team Rocket has taken the Slowpoke in the Azalea Slowpoke Well and chopped their tails off to sell on the black market. These run for a whopping 1,000,000 PD a pop ($10k in USD).

But then, in later generations, it's said that Slowpoke tails fall off naturally. In fact, they're a crucial part of both Alolan AND Galarian cuisine:

The curry ingredient even sells for a measly 2,200 PD ($22 USD).

So what gives? Why is it a Million-Poké black market item when you can get a package off your local hiker?

Easy. Sweetness.

Slowpoke use their tails to fish for food. Typically, they do this by dipping their tails into the water, then letting the current catch the sweet sap they give off and bring it to hungry Water-types.

When a Slowpoke sheds its tail, it's because the tail's ability to generate sap has dried up. It's no longer useful as fishing bait, so the Slowpoke has to either get rid of the tail, or starve.

Shed Slowpoke tails, the ones commonly available for cooking, aren't sweet in the slightest—they're more like heavily-marbled tuna steaks, somewhere between beef and fish with a lot of fat dripping from them, and a rich umami flavor.

Chopped Slowpoke tails, the kind you find on the black market, are a completely different experience. The meat is more tender, the flavor a lot more delicate, with a sweetness permeating it that's a lot like the honey glaze on a ham.

Naturally, chopped Slowpoke tail then becomes a novel experience. Because you have to take it from a Slowpoke, you can't just find it lying around.

So why, then, is it illegal enough for Rocket to move in on? Why is Slowpoke farming or hunting for those sweet tails not a thing? They still grow them back afterwards, so what's the deal?

The problem with chopping a Slowpoke's tail off is that, even though it regenerates, its body wasn't ready to do so. This can cause a whole lot of complications for the poor thing.

A tail doesn't regenerate from nothing, for starters: every time you cut a tail off unexpectedly, the Slowpoke's body rushes to make a replacement, using up its body's fat reserves. This causes VERY rapid and dangerous weight loss, and a frankly ridiculous amount of stress.

Incorrect cuts can cause deformities, like a tail growing back too short, not being able to make enough sweetness to bait fish Pokémon, or even Espeon-tail syndrome, where the tail splits into two at the end.

And, perhaps most egregiously of all, a cut too high might mean the Slowpoke never regrows its tail at all. If you cut into anything that's not specifically tail tissue, the body will begin the scarring process over the wound, removing the Pokémon's ability to fish and evolve. And while it can learn to survive by fishing manually, like its evolutionary counterpart is required to, oftentimes, Slowpoke will just sit by the water and starve, not realizing that they aren't getting a bite because there's just nothing to bite.

In short: Shed = ethical, chopped = unethical, possibly lethal.

Slowpoke responsibly, guys.

#pokemon #pkmn #theory #slowpoke #slowpoke tails #i'm in a pokemon mood guys #long post #worldbuilding

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obseeung · 10 days ago

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marked territory —heeseung lee

MDNI | arranged marriage, cheating (??), name calling (slut), bathroom sex, p in v.

The thumping bass of the club vibrated up through the soles of your expensive leather boots as you pushed through the heavy, velvet-draped entrance. Smoke hung thick in the air, catching the low crimson lights and swirling around silhouettes grinding on the packed dance floor.

Your eyes, sharp as honed steel beneath a carefully neutral expression, scanned the shadowed booths lining the walls. You weren't here for the cheap thrills or watered-down bourbon. You were hunting your husband.

And you found him.

In a secluded booth draped in deeper shadow, Heeseung sat like a king holding court, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid dangling carelessly from his long fingers. But it was the sight nestled on his lap that made the breath catch razor-sharp in your throat.

A woman—all long legs, shimmering dress, and artfully tousled hair—was perched there, leaning into him, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered something that made a slow, dangerous smirk curl his lips.

The sight was a physical blow, a white-hot poker straight through the icy fury that had propelled you out into the night after your vicious argument. Arranged marriage or not, bound by your families' bloody empires, this was a declaration of war.

Heeseung’s dark eyes lifted, scanning the crowd with lazy arrogance, until they landed on you. The smirk vanished, replaced by genuine surprise that flickered across his handsome, sharp-boned face. A momentary crack in his usual controlled mask. Before he could speak, before he could even set his glass down, the woman on his lap followed his gaze.

A coy, possessive smile touched her painted lips as she leaned closer to Heeseung, her voice a syrupy purr meant to carry.

"Looking for something, sugar?" she drawled, her voice saccharine. "This seat’s taken."

The sound snapped the last taut thread of your control. Your hand flew out, a crack echoing through the momentary lull in the music near their booth. The slap connected hard, snapping the blonde’s head to the side. She gasped, clutching her cheek, eyes wide with shock and incipient tears.

Before Heeseung could react, your other hand snaked out, fingers closing around the hilt of the small, wicked blade resting beside his abandoned drink. With a swift, brutal motion, you drove it deep into the meat of his left thigh, just above the knee.

Heeseung roared, a guttural sound of pain and fury, his body jerking violently. The blonde shrieked, scrambling off his lap. You ignored Heeseung, already yanking the compact gun from your waistband, pressing the cold muzzle hard against the trembling blonde’s forehead, silencing her mid-scream.

Your eyes, blazing with possessive fury, locked onto Heeseung’s.

Blood blossomed dark and fast, soaking through the fine fabric of his trousers. He clutched the wound, teeth gritted, face pale under the club's dim lights, but his gaze never wavered from yours—a mix of shock, fury, and something else… something dangerously intense.

"Jesus Christ!" Heeseung snarled, his own anger flaring hot at the public spectacle, at the lethal little weapon now dominating the space. "Have you lost your goddamn mind? Put that away!"

A slow, dangerous smile touched your lips, utterly devoid of warmth. Your eyes never left his. "Kiss me," You commanded, your voice dropping even lower, a challenge and a dare wrapped in silk. "Right now."

A tense beat pulsed between you, thick with the unspoken history of your volatile bond—obligation laced with searing, undeniable tension. His jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath smooth skin.

Then, with a low growl that vibrated through your bones, Heeseung closed the distance. His hand snaked around the back of your neck, pulling you in with brutal force. His mouth crashed down onto yours.

It wasn't gentle; it was possession, punishment, and raw, untamed hunger rolled into one.

Teeth scraped lips, tongues clashed in a furious dance. He tasted of expensive bourbon and betrayal, and you met him with the ferocity of a cornered panther, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw a metallic tang of blood. When he finally ripped his mouth away, breathing ragged, you pressed the gun harder against the whimpering woman’s temple, your lips slick and swollen.

"Mine," you breathed, the single word a vow and a curse.

His dark eyes blazed. "Let her go," he ordered, his voice rough. Before you could react further, his hand clamped like a vice around your wrist holding the gun, forcing it down.

The blonde scrambled away, sobbing, disappearing into the crowd.

Heeseung didn’t watch her go. In one fluid, powerful movement, fueled by adrenaline and raw fury, he hauled you off the banquette, ignoring his own limp, dragging you towards the back hallway, towards the restrooms. The pain radiated off him, a palpable heat, but his grip was iron.

He slammed through the door of the single, surprisingly clean bathroom, and closed it behind him. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by your harsh breaths and his pained hiss as he leaned against the door for a second, pressing harder on his thigh.

Then his eyes, dark and predatory, fixed on you.

"You stabbed me," He stated, the words low, dangerous.

"You deserved it," You shot back, chin lifted defiantly, though your heart hammered against your ribs. The air crackled with violence and lust.

He pushed off the door, closing the distance in two strides despite the injury. His hands were on you instantly, rough, tearing at the buttons of your blouse. Fabric ripped.

"Gonna pay for that, princess," he growled, his voice a promise. "Gonna pay with that tight little cunt." His fingers hooked into the waistband of your skirt, yanking it down your hips and ripping your underwear off of you.

The delicate lace tore like paper under his strength. His gaze raking down your exposed body, lingering on the dark triangle of curls between your thighs. His own cock, already a formidable bulge in his trousers, strained against the zipper.

You gasped as his hand slid between your legs, fingers plunging into your slick heat without preamble. "Big talk for a man bleeding on the tile," You managed, arching into his touch despite yourself, your own hand fumbling for his belt.

He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound, as you freed his cock. The rumors you hear about Heeseung weren’t lies. It was thick and long, flushed dark, the head glistening. A marble pillar of pure, intimidating arousal. "Still talking back," He murmured, wrapping his large hand around the base of his cock.

He guided the thick head to your soaked entrance, the blunt pressure immense. "Gonna shut that mouth." With a brutal thrust, he sheathed himself inside you to the hilt.

You cried out, the stretch intense, bordering on painful, but the exquisite burn was instantly consumed by overwhelming pleasure. He filled you utterly, stretching your inner walls, hitting depths that stole your breath.

He didn't pause, setting a punishing rhythm immediately, slamming into you with deep, powerful strokes that drove you back against the cool tile wall. Each thrust jolted his wounded thigh, a fresh wave of pain contorting his features, but he only fucked you harder, using the agony as fuel.

"That's it," He snarled, his hips pistoning, the wet slap of skin echoing in the small room.

"Take it. Take every fucking inch, you jealous little slut." His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in, holding you open, impaling you relentlessly.

"Fuck… Heeseung…" You moaned, your nails raking down his back, feeling the powerful muscles flexing beneath sweat-slicked skin. The pain in his leg was a shared current, electrifying the brutal intimacy. "So big… god… fills me up…"

"Shut up," he growled, but there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes. He shifted slightly, angling his thrusts, and the thick head of his cock dragged against that sweet, hidden spot deep inside. Stars exploded behind your eyelids.

"Just a greedy hole for my cock, aren't you?" He breathed, his voice thick with lust. "My crazy, stab-happy wife. Mine to fuck raw against a bathroom wall." He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Gonna come all over this cock? Gonna scream for me?"

You tried to retort, but the sensations were too intense, building like a tsunami. He saw it, the way your body clenched around him, the way your breath hitched. "That's it," he rasped.

"Gonna make you choke on it." He slammed into you with renewed ferocity, his pace becoming erratic, frantic. The tile was cold against your back, his body a furnace pressing against you, the scent of blood, sex, and his expensive cologne filling your nostrils. You felt the coil in your belly tighten unbearably, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his invading thickness.

The bathroom door handle rattled violently. "Occupied!" Heeseung roared, the sound raw and commanding, never breaking his rhythm.

He shifted instantly, twisting his body to shield you from view of the door crack, his back taking the potential intrusion, his hips still driving into your convulsing heat with relentless, deep strokes.

The pressure built relentlessly inside you, a coil wound impossibly tight by his relentless assault on your senses, by the sheer dominance of his possession, by the illicit thrill of nearly being caught. His filthy words poured into your ear—how tight you was, how perfectly you took him, how he owned every scream tearing from your throat. You felt yourself shattering, fragmenting around him. Just as the peak crashed over you, wave after wave of blinding ecstasy tearing a ragged scream from your throat.

He muffled your scream with a fierce, possessive kiss as your orgasm ripped through you, milking his cock with violent spasms. The feel of you clenching around him pushed him over the edge. With a raw groan that vibrated through both your bodies, he buried himself to the root, his cock pulsing as hot cum flooded your pussy in thick, claiming spurts.

He collapsed against you for a moment, forehead pressed to the tile beside your head, his breath ragged gasps against your sweat-dampened hair.

You felt the slick heat of his release leaking down your trembling thighs. Slowly, painfully, he pulled out, a low hiss escaping him as he put weight on the wounded leg. He looked down at you, your blouse torn, skirt bunched at your hips, face flushed, lips swollen from his kisses and bites. His dark eyes held no apology, only a smoldering, dangerous satisfaction.

The harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom buzzed overhead, casting stark shadows on the cracked tile. The only sounds were your ragged breathing—yours still catching on the aftershocks of your climax, his rasping with the strain of pain and exertion—and the slow, thick drip of water from a faulty faucet. The air hung heavy, saturated with the musk of sweat, the coppery tang of Heeseung’s blood, and the unmistakable, primal scent of sex.

You sagged against the cool wall, trembling legs barely holding you. Your skirt was tucked up around your waist, and as your gaze drifted downwards, you saw it: a scrap of ruined black lace, the delicate fabric torn cleanly where Heeseung’s impatient hands had ripped it from your hips. It lay discarded near a smear of blood on the otherwise clean tile, a stark, intimate casualty.

A shaky breath escaped you, half-laugh, half-sigh. "Damn," You murmured, your voice still husky, your eyes fixed on the ruined underwear. "Those were my favorite pair."

Heeseung, leaning heavily against the sink counter opposite you, one hand clamped firmly over the soaked, dark patch on his thigh, followed your gaze.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but his dark eyes held a predatory satisfaction as they flickered from the lace to your exposed sex, still glistening with his cum. "It’s alright, princess," He rasped, the pain making his voice rougher.

"I’ll buy you a dozen more. Silk. Satin. Whatever you damn well want." He shifted his weight, wincing slightly. "Consider it… compensation for the blonde."

The casual offer, laced with that familiar arrogant entitlement, sparked a flicker of defiance in your still-thrumming veins. You met his gaze, a slow, deliberately provocative smile touching your swollen lips as you pushed off the wall, pulling your skirt down with trembling hands.

"Don’t trouble yourself, husband," you said, your voice deliberately light, honeyed poison. "Minho likes buying me pretty things. I’m sure he’ll pick out something lovely to replace them." You referenced the tall, ever-attentive bodyguard assigned to you—a constant, silent presence Heeseung despised.

The effect was instantaneous and volcanic. All traces of weary satisfaction vanished from Heeseung’s face, replaced by a chilling, possessive fury. He pushed off the counter, ignoring the searing agony in his leg, crossing the small space in one furious stride.

His hand shot out, large and implacable, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet the inferno in his eyes.

The pressure was bruising, forcing your head back against the tile again.

"Listen to me," He growled, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, the warmth leaching out of it entirely, replaced by a honeyed menace that was far more terrifying than a shout. His thumb stroked almost tenderly over the spot he’d just gripped, a cruel contrast.

"You let another man breathe near your lingerie drawer, let alone buy you a goddamn scrap of silk to put between those pretty thighs…" His gaze dropped pointedly, possessively, down your body before snapping back to yours, blazing. "...and I will put a bullet between his eyes. Slow. And I’ll make you watch. Then I’ll lock you in a room with nothing but the damn underwear he bought, and you’ll wear it while I fuck you raw to remind you exactly whose cunt it covers. Understood?"

The threat hung in the humid air, thick and suffocating. There was no teasing in it, no playful dominance. It was a cold, brutal statement of fact, underscored by the dark fury in his eyes and the iron grip on your jaw. The scent of his blood was stronger now, mingling with the sharp, clean smell of his rage.

You could feel the tension vibrating through him, the pain in his leg forgotten in the white-hot intensity of his jealousy.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cool tile traced down your spine, warring with the treacherous heat pooling low in your belly. The dangerous possessiveness, the lethal promise in his words… it shouldn’t have thrilled you. But it did. It sent a fresh pulse of slick heat between your legs, a dark echo of the brutal claiming that had just taken place.

You held his gaze, your own defiant, a flicker of perverse satisfaction in your eyes as you saw the depth of his obsession. He might rage, he might bleed, he might threaten murder over underwear�� but he was yours. Utterly. Completely.

"Understood," You whispered, the word barely audible, your lips brushing against the pad of his thumb still resting on your jaw.

He stared at you for another long, charged moment, the fury slowly banked but still simmering dangerously beneath the surface, a live wire. Then, with a final, punishing squeeze that promised future reckoning, he released your jaw.

He turned, limping heavily back towards the sink, his movements stiff with pain but still radiating lethal control. He didn’t look back as he pulled a wad of paper towels from the dispenser, pressing them hard against his thigh with a sharp hiss. The ruined scrap of black lace lay forgotten on the floor, a silent testament to the violent, possessive dance that bound you together, tighter than any arranged marriage contract ever could.

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invincibledc · 3 months ago

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ꫂৎ𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒/𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐗 𝐖𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂!𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Genre: headcannons

info!☆ Wynorrific, the word of being visually beautiful.. but being horrific at the same times. But reader is a monster in human form, trying to mimick humans for their/her own amusement. Reader goes by they/she & them/her. Sorry if it’s gets confusing.

☆warning: disturbing descriptions & headcannons, the family ignoring how reader is a red flag, a little of crack into this. You have been warned, viewer discretion.

having man eating fem monster into the family.. is crazy. But that’s just the bat-family who can’t help but obsess over this monster who loves to tear into the flesh of humans. The sweet relief of hearing screams gives her them pleasure. Them taking the pleasure of a beautiful woman, but being an abomination to man kind. But Bruce doesn’t care, as long as they make his sons happy.

reader could eating a person’s body, destroying any features that could make them recognizable, and they’ll be like. “Awww they’re hungry…”

don’t give them an axe, she will tear someone’s head open like a busted can.

Once a low level crook accidentally harmed Jason, and they went livid, immediately tackling the crook down and tearing their neck muscle out. Jason could only chuckle in his red hood outfit, “She’s so protective…” while he shoots a guy down without looking.

reader being the type of person to not care for anyone but themself but is literally loved for no reason. That’s the whole thing with the family.

Damian who’s such a little shit, he literally doesn’t know how to approach such a man eater like them… so he brought a dead body to them. What? Can’t a guy make friends with some random monster on earth?

Reader enjoyed the body anyways, he had gained her blessing to not be killed in his sleep.

tim having to get a improved child leash for her. It’s funny, I swear. But it’s so scary.

“Calm down!” He exclaimed trying to hold the monster from tearing into a minion of a villain. The minion sobbed in terror at this.. shadowed face woman that has rows of sharp teeth. Ready to bite into his head and chew his brain like gum.

“Sorry.. she usually isn’t like this.” Tim says with a chuckle as if this was very normal to him. He darkly look at the minion with a grin that doesn’t reach his face. “You must smell very good for her to want to eat you. Would be a shame if I let go of this leash if you don’t give me any information about your boss.

Chomping at the air with harsh gargling noises, it was a disgusting sound as tim just smiled still. “Better get to talking.” Tim loosens his grip a bit. “She’s hungry.”

reader doesn’t even speak, like they are nonverbal. Only making small clicking and crunching sounds from their body and their mouth. But if they were to mimic human language, then their traps to trap people will be lethal

I sometimes headcannon dick to be an officer/detective for a day job. Just imagine how it feels to have people rushing in about their loved ones that died being mauled by something.

oh no! Your husband’s been ripped apart, limb for limb and only his head was left? Well.. too bad. Wonder who could’ve been the culprit. And the culprit is certainly in their little cage, chewing on raw meat.

Damian can trust this abomination won’t eat his pets, because she has shown disinterest into even looking at them. Titus sniffs their feet before barking lightly at the monster. They could only tilt their head and pet the adorable dog.

reader who sticks by wolf in sheep’s clothing. Loving how her human face makes people forget the terrible things she’s done. The no killing rule? Bruce is minding his business, ignoring the crimes of her victims.

reader almost mauling Jason for pulling her back from chowing down on a carcass is something no one wants to see… or know. Cause Jason man handled the monster before their tendrils came out from their back and pinned him down. Thank god Bruce was there to sedate them.

this monster having the most disgusting true form, that even the most nonphased people may even gag and throw up. It’s unsettling….

reader had once used their high heels to stab a guy’s eye in when he tried to follow them. Only to end up missing.

she only uses her tendrils if she needs to apprehend her victims if they are being to hostile or annoying. But she uses them on Damian when he gets too clingy.

Jason mostly using reader for threatening tactics. And it works. WHO wouldn’t be scared of some crazy looking woman who actually shifts her whole body to look mangled and has insanely amount of teeth.

reader being the family’s secret, and if anyone found out and didn’t accept this. They’ll be your supper for later.

Jason who sees her likes for axes, so he bought her a nice pink axe with the sharpest blade of them all. Literally just gets her weapons for Christmas 24/7. Dick also gets her just white dresses, seeing how she likes them.

once showed up to a gala, dressed so nice and preppy, but so elegant at the same time. Sadly, eating someone’s fingers at the gala is not cute.. the monster was banned from galas and had to stay home in a cage til it was over.

Reader who is literally the queen of man eaters. Figuratively and literally.

and before I go, reader hasn’t eaten the family due to loving the free human meat they get from them. They’re sick, sure. But they’re love sick to keep this monster with them.

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i2rizz · 2 months ago

Text

Did I mention I'm wildly in love with this deranged little bitch? Don't even ask where this idea came from-my brain's basically a cursed fanfic generator fueled by chaos, thirst, and questionable zero impulse control

Locked & Loaded

The alley was slick with demon blood—everywhere, sticky, and steaming where it hit the pavement. The stink of it clung to the night air, thick and metallic, crawling into your lungs even through the adrenaline.

Dante wiped his blade on his coat, standing over the remainings of what had once been a gangly, hissing demon.

"Ugly bastard" he muttered, nudging the corpse with the toe of his boot. "That’s the last time I take a bounty that pays in IOUs and moldy pizza"

You scoffed, stepping over a pile of broken crates. "You weren’t complaining about the pizza when you ate half of it"

"Low standards. Occupational hazard"

You shot him a look over your shoulder as you sheathed your own blade. The two of you made quite the pair—blood-splattered, sweaty, and absolutely unbothered. Dante had his usual swagger, that half-cocked grin that never quite left his face, and you? You were the calm to his chaos. Cool hands, sharp eyes, and a pistol always ready—until tonight.

Because, as fate would have it, both your guns had hit the ground mid-battle. His were kicked across the alley; yours had slid under a rusted dumpster in the middle of dodging a particularly aggressive hellspawn.

You figured you had enough time to grab them—until the second wave hit.

The growl echoed before you saw it. Low. Guttural. Disgusting.

Dante turned just as the wall behind you shattered, bricks flying. Something huge and snarling lunged out from the smoke, claws like meat cleavers and a mouth full of jagged teeth that glistened in the moonlight.

You both dove—instinct, perfect synchronization—but you hit the ground hard, knees scraping.

"Shit—Dante, your guns—"

"Gone" he grunted, rolling to his feet. "Yours?"

You looked under the dumpster. No glint. No chance. "Buried. We’ve got nothing"

The demon roared, charging.

Dante grimaced. "Alright. We’re doing this old-school"

But you held up a hand. Calm. Focused. And very much not panicking.

"Nah, twin" you said smoothly, voice cool as the metal you were about to introduce to the situation. "I got this"

Dante blinked. "Babe, unless you’re hiding a shotgun in your boots, I don’t think—"

You reached into your jacket, tugging at the zipper halfway… then lower.

He paused.

"Wait—are you—?"

And with one confident pull, you drew a sleek, silver pistol from right between your chest—tight holster, custom fit, hidden in plain sight. You cocked it without missing a beat, the click loud and sweet in the tense air.

Dante stared.

"Holy hell," he muttered, visibly stunned. "Is that where you keep it this whole time?"

You smirked, stepping forward with a roll of your shoulder. "Emergency backup, babe. You think I wear this top for style?"

The demon charged again. You raised the pistol.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots. Each one precise. The demon reeled back, screeching in pain as black ichor burst from its eye socket and shoulder.

Dante watched you—barely breathing, maybe because you looked like a literal fever dream. Bloody, glowing in the alley light, sweat clinging to your collarbone, your weapon still hot in your hands, smoke curling from the barrel.

He let out a low whistle. "You just became the hottest person I’ve ever seen"

You didn’t look at him—too focused, too in the zone. "Flirt later. Cover me"

“God, I love you” he muttered, dazed, as he grabbed a crowbar from the ground and dove in with you.

It was fast, brutal. You moved in tandem—one fluid, lethal machine. The demon never stood a chance.

By the time it crumpled into a pile of twitching limbs, you were breathing heavy, hands on your knees. Dante came up behind you, slow, still catching his breath.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"I’m not even mad about losing my guns," he murmured. "That was the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, between the boobs? That’s genius"

You laughed, low and smug. "Told you I had it handled"

He nuzzled your neck, shameless. "You have me handled"

You turned in his arms, lifting the still-warm pistol and tucking it back into its secret holster. His eyes followed the motion like a man hypnotized.

"Stop staring"

"Can’t," he said. "My girl pulls a piece from her tits and kills a demon with three shots to the face. What do you expect me to do, not get turned on?"

You kissed him then—sweaty, blood-spattered, and giggling. He tasted like adrenaline and praise and something wild.

"You’re shameless" you whispered.

"And so hard it's concerning" he said against your mouth. "Now let’s go home. I wanna see what else you’ve been hiding under that top"

#anime #x reader #x y/n #dante sparda x you #dante sparda x reader #dante x reader #dmc dante #dante devil may cry #dante sparda #dante #dante x you #dmc netflix #dmc #dmc x reader #dmc x you

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